The brunette startles awake and dad barks the order again. This time she listens, scurrying out the door without even bothering to put her clothes on. Once the door slams behind her, my father hurls me further into the room. I hit the edge of his bed and bounce off, falling painfully onto the hardwood. I haven't seen daddy this pissed since Kase and I tried to run away together years ago.
"What the fuck were you thinking, Brooklyn?" he hisses. "Kase Cruz?"
"Daddy–"
"You are never going to be with him, Brooklyn. I forbid it. You deserve better than that piece of shit."
"He's not a piece of shit!"
My father is rapidly turning red. His normally handsome face is contorted in rage and he actually spits when he talks.
"His father was a piece of shit, his brother is a piece of shit, and he is the biggest shit of them all. You have no idea what the Cruz family has cost us, Brooklyn."
"I love him, daddy! And I don't care how often I have to run away. I don't care what you think. I'm going to be with him if I can because he's a good man."
"Bullshit."
I've finally had it. I tug Cleo's pink shirt up so he can get a good look at the bruises on my stomach. They're fading to a yellow-brown color now that they've had a few days to heal, but they're still visible.
"Kase didn't make these bruises, daddy. Axel and his friends did. They tried to kidnap me. Dallas orchestrated this whole thing and he's trying to use me against you. Kase was trying to hide me. You're giving them what they wanted by dragging me back here."
My father has gone completely still, and thoughts spin wildly across his face. My father is smart. Brilliant, in fact. He could have had a career in engineering if things had played out differently. I know he completed at least a bachelor's degree. It only takes him a few seconds to figure out just how badly he's fucked up.
But too late. Far, far too late.
By the time that my father has wrapped his fingers around the Sig holstered at his waist, the door is already bursting open with Dallas framed in the doorway. He smiles at the pair of us, raises his Beretta and fires.
15
Kase
"Can't this piece of shit go any faster?" I growl, leaning against the steering wheel as though that will make a difference.
Cleo's car refuses to go past ninety miles per hour, no matter how hard I push it. The moment I try the engine makes a grinding sound and threatens to lock up. So I keep the car hovering around eighty-nine, going as fast as I can manage without wrecking it.
The sunny day reveals that the King's side of town is even shittier than ours. The buildings here sag further, the people scurry, and everything is just damn depressing. It's almost worse to see it in the stark light of day.
"We've already attracted the cops. What more do you want?"
I glance in the rearview mirror, scowling at the blue and red lights that spiral in the distance. As if we need more problems. If the police know what's good for them, they'll keep back once they know where we're going. The Kings. like the Spades, own a few policemen.
Ryker signals for me to take a left up ahead and I slow enough to take the turn without going onto two wheels. I don't need Ryker's confirmation to know that the house up ahead must belong to the Kings. It's easily the most upscale building on the street, and a phalanx of bikes waits outside. There's only one Harley among them, and I'd bet my ass it's Gardel's. If he's here, Brooklyn has to be as well.
Cleo's elderly vehicle lets out a groan when we spin to a muddy stop in front of the house. Its bumper topples a few of the bikes like bowling pins. Oh well. A few less people we have to worry about escaping later.
Ryker and I are out of the car in seconds, sprinting up the muddy lawn as fast as we can. I'm moving in a sidewinder's crawl, still not completely steady after being dosed. No time to sober up though. I'm already too late. Gunshots split the night air.
"Fuck!"
I'm not sure if I say it, or if Ryker does, because we're both shouting. When we reach the porch, the action is already threatening to spill outside. There are at least thirty men inside, and confusion reigns. Everyone is shooting and only half of them seem to know why. The room beyond might have been nice, once upon a time. Hardwood floors, well-lit, and filled with opulent furniture. Everything in the room is overturned, spilling stuffing onto the floor. A few men shelter behind what can only be described as a throne that's been turned on its side. Potato face–what had Brooklyn called him, Axel? –has assumed a firing position near the door, laying into a couple of guys in the corner.
The walls are studded with gunshots, the room barely lit because the overhead lights have been popped by stray bullets. And standing in the midst of it all is Calamity Gardel, streaked with blood and grime, but still standing, even as the bullets rain down on him. He looks like a barbarian, savage and bloodthirsty. No one is getting closer to him, scared shitless of this seemingly unkillable man.
Just seeing his face almost blinds me with rage. The last time I laid eyes on this fucker, he shot my dad. He'd been trying to kill me. He'd stolen my girl away and left me with nothing. No family, no friends, no girlfriend, just empty years and regret. I still have the stolen piece I took off of one of Dallas' men. It would be so easy to–
"Kase!"
Ryker's booming voice knocks me out of the haze of anger long enough to take in a few other facts about the scene.
